


A Thing with Feathers

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [62]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dimension Travel, F/M, Feels, Horsemen, Oral Sex, Plans, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Vessels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: Buffy still needs to close the seal to the Hellmouth under the school, but even that is put on the back burner when Dean returns.





	A Thing with Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, Hunters on the Hellmouth was 42 chapters, but I decided to cut the final chapter in two. Inspired by events in BTVS 7.21 “End of Days,” SPN 5.19 “Hammer of the Gods,” SPN 5.20 “The Devil You Know,” and SPN 5.21 “Two Minutes to Midnight.”

The flowers stung Bobby. In movies, the end of the world meant a barren wasteland of ash and rock, skeletal trees, failed crops. In reality – both in Sunnydale and Sioux Falls – nature plugged along without a care for who was living or dying. Dandelions mocked sidewalks. Manicured lawns turned into thickets. Honeysuckle and morning glories swallowed the houses.

Karen’s flower beds had never grown back though. One spring in a fit of guilt, Bobby had even tried to restore them, but his own personal Apocalypse was too complete for nature.

The new, modern building before him had several blacked out windows and overgrown flower beds. The vampires inside probably weren’t interested in gardening, yet they’d still shown more of a green thumb than Bobby. The question was: How many vampires could the building hold?

Robin Wood stroked his goatee. “We ran around eight hundred students, plus staff.”

“Give or take a massacre,” Buffy added.

Bobby snorted, half amused, half horrified. Sunnydale High: a school on a Devil’s Gate.

“That don’t mean anythin’.” Bobby adjusted his cap to keep the sun out of his eyes. “That’s all crowd control and student-teacher ratios. Question is, how much space do vampires need? And how much shit will they put up with for Lucifer?”

Bobby had been busy since his boys took off. He had a whole new world to learn about after all, and Giles, Willow and the rest and proved themselves virtual libraries of information.

Thankfully, the street went two ways. Bobby had experimented with a few of his own monster-hunting tricks from back home. The things he’d learned would be useful in the upcoming battle. Not to mention, the several houses they’d taken over needed constant repairs, and his construction and engineering experience far outstripped that of Xander Harris.

So it was that Bobby found himself seriously considering blowing up a high school. “If this seal is all the way down in the basement with as many twists and turns as you say, there’s no way we can bend the sunlight inside.” Xander’s plan. “Daylight lamps would be a fool’s gamble. Best plan is to either cut a hole in the roof or blow the whole damn thing up.”

“Might as well,” Robin sighed. “If the board ever reconvenes, I’m pretty sure they’re firing my ass.”

“There’s no way they can blame you for this,” said Buffy.

The principal offered her an unconvincing smile. “You underestimate the power of bureaucracy. Someone is going to have to take the fall for this. When you blew up the last school, they simultaneously blamed it on a gas leak, shoddy wiring, and ‘the poor leadership of Principal Snyder.’”

_When you blew up the last school._

Bobby knew his first impressions of Buffy – lovesick and worried – weren’t her whole identity. When Dean had looked at her, love melted his features, erasing the hard edge years of hunting had cut into him. With each passing day, Bobby saw that Buffy was fearless. She was decisive. And unlike most hunters he knew, Buffy was overflowing with love and connections.

Bobby’s lips curled into a smile. If they could close this Devil’s Gate, if they could trap Lucifer and Michael, if they won, his boy could have a happily ever after.

Assuming Dean came back.

* * *

 

It was like riding a comet, teeth-rattling at speeds that threatened to peel skin from bone. When the Winchesters landed, rolling across the overgrown Sunnydale lawns, Cas was already glowing, fissures of pale blue light criss-crossing his skin.

“Run!” the angel warned.

The brothers bolted toward Buffy’s little white house, some of the Potentials already streaming out to greet them.

“Get back inside!” Dean screamed. “He’s gonna blow!”

Dean took the downstairs, Sam the up, where they yanked people to the floor, shouting, “Cover your ears! Don’t look!”

A blinding light filled the house. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Then a boom rattled the house, cracking a few windows.

“Everybody okay?” Dean asked as he got up from the floor.

“They’re alive!”

“Sam and Dean are back!”

“They killed Death!”

Ellen barreled out of the kitchen, eyes already wet with tears. “Don’t scare me like that, boy.” She squeezed Dean then smacked him in the chest. “I came back to life, and then you took off without a how-do-you-do.”

“Good to see you, too, Ellen. Sam’s upstairs if you wanna slap him around.”

She smiled slyly and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And what the hell is this about you of all people havin’ a girlfriend?”

“Speaking of, where’s Buffy?” he asked, looking around.

“Out doing her hero thing. She’s a catch.”

He grinned. “I know.”

The smile faded quickly, however, as Dean headed outside, hoping against hope that the explosion hadn’t meant what he knew it meant.

He didn’t get very far before the sight of her stopped him in his tracks. She was across the street, eyes locked on him. All blonde hair, attitude, and a winning smile.

Jo Harvelle.

She bounded over to him, her smile growing ever brighter with each step, but she stopped just short of his reach. “Hey.” Jo looked him up and down. “You’re alive!”

“Same to you,” he said, giving her a bear hug.

Before she let go, Dawn, Xander and several Potentials piled on. Sam was the center of a similar hive lead by Willow and Giles. It was good to be back in Sunnydale, back in the packed house, back around his chosen family.

But the trip had not been free. Dean, Sam, and a curious entourage headed down the street where a block of houses were leveled. Those nearby were peppered with shrapnel, the windows broken, shingles missing. In the middle of it all, a red spot stained the street.

Giles inspected the mess before asking the Winchesters in a soft voice, “Is that your angel friend?”

“Technically, no,” said Sam. He pursed his lips as he surveyed the remains. “Cas used all of his energy to bring us here and, I guess, had nothing left to maintain his vessel. That, uh, spot was Jimmy Novak. Cas is somewhere in the ether.”

“The pretty angel is dead?!” one of the Potentials wailed.

 _Pretty?_ “No,” Dean said, needing to hear himself say it, “Castiel is fine. He just doesn’t have a vessel anymore.”

“Not much ‘elp as angel dust though.” Spike, not a part of the warm welcome crew, had quietly joined the crowd around the stain in the street. Lower, so only Dean could hear, Spike added, “I’ll take care of this. You’ve dealt with enough bodies.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. It felt wrong somehow, though. His friend, Castiel, was fine. Dean knew that in his gut. Jimmy Novak was a stranger. Another stranger who’d died helping him fight the fight. “We can burn the remains. Give Jimmy a proper hunter’s funeral.”

“Whatever you want, mate.”

“What about the Trickster?” asked Ellen.

“Dead,” said Dean.

Lucifer had found a crack between worlds he could slip through, though not with a vessel. The markings on their ribs broken, the Winchesters had been easy to track. Cas had fixed their warding, but it was too late. Lucifer was there in some Indiana no-tell motel slaughtering gods and angels alike. Though they were no longer trackable, Dean had no doubt Lucifer would soon be returning to his new playground in search of them.

“But you did the thing, right?” asked Spike. “You went to Mordor to get the rings?”

Andrew held up a finger in protest. “That’s not how –”

“Shut up,” Spike said.

Dean plucked two rings from his pocket and tossed them to Giles. “Collected all four.”

Willow leaned in by Giles and inspected the rings. “Huh, I expected some more all-powerful pizazz,” she said to no one.

Giles dropped the rings in Willow’s outstretched hands. Her hand immediately sizzled. She screamed and dropped them. “Power’s definitely on,” she said through gritted teeth.

Giles picked up the rings in a handkerchief. “Gabriel’s plan was to get the rings, allowing us to reopen Lucifer’s cage, correct?”

The Winchesters nodded.

“What’s the lure for our trap?” he continued.

“That’s the million dollar, life-or-death question,” Sam replied.

* * *

 

Robin slowed his car when they turned onto Revello Drive, now ground zero for an explosion. A cluster of people gathered in the street around what must have caused the blast.

Buffy bolted before the car stopped.

He was there. Tall and handsome as ever, standing on the edge of whatever was going on. Joy welled up inside her. Buffy was too choked up to even call his name.

Dean looked up and ran to her, picking her up as she leapt into his arms. She wrapped her legs around him, his strong arms cradling her thighs as she planted a kiss on his beautiful mouth. In his arms, she felt like they doubled, tripled in size to contain all the feelings tripping from her lips to his. They grew until they were giants. They grew until the world shrank away, all worries, all demands, all destinies became less than grains of sand. Cradling his face in her hands, she tore herself away for air and got lost in his mossy green eyes.

“Hey Girly,” he said softly.

She kissed him again, drunk on the sweet sting of his whiskey mouth, until someone coughed loudly behind them.

“Okay, lovebirds, other people here,” said Bobby.

Dean set Buffy down, keeping one arm around her while pulling in Bobby for a three-way hug.

“Um, so what happened here?” she asked, noticing the red smear on the pavement for the first time.

“Cas blew his vessel,” Dean said, somberly.

“Oh God!” She covered her mouth in shock.

“But Cas is fine,” he added, hurriedly. “He’s fine.”

Bobby furrowed his brow at the mess. “We should pick up what we can. Give him a real hunter’s funeral.”

Dean nodded. “That’s what I said. Spike offered to deal with _this_.” He gestured at the spot.

That seemed odd for Spike, who Buffy spied milling on the edge of the circle looking every direction but theirs. Maybe he’d bonded some with the angel, but that seemed unlikely, too. It struck her that she didn’t know who he talked to lately. Her, yes. She thought she’d seen him talking with the Harvelle’s a few times. With Sam gone, was there anyone else Spike felt comfortable with?

She hadn’t noticed that the the crowd had started moving back toward her house. She leaned into Dean, taking in his gunpowder and leather scent, listening to his small talk with Bobby.

Then somebody screamed.

They group rushed over to a brick house, one of their several expanded homebases. On the sidewalk lay one of the girls, eyes burned in their sockets.

“Steph wanted to see an angel,” one of the girls said through tears.

“I got it!” Jo shooed away the rubber-neckers. “We’ll do a service tonight before sunset. You all know the drill.”

“You need a hand?” Sam asked. The Winchesters had cleaned up every other body.

“Nah, you guys go. Tell your story. I’ll catch up. Besides, she’s from my house.” There was something stiff about Jo’s smile.

No one else wanted to volunteer for body clean up, so the whole group left Jo and Spike to their grizzly task.

* * *

 

Two bodies – one of which had basically turned to goo – weren’t the most appetizing site; nonetheless, Andrew had just pulled the last pizzas from the oven when the Winchesters returned. Soon, the somber attitude of fresh deaths melted to a buzz of excitement as everyone waited for the Winchesters to stop eating and tell their story.

Buffy surveyed the options in the kitchen. “Is it all pepperoni?”

“It never goes bad!” Xander said around a mouth full.

Anya patted him on the shoulder. “Yes it does.”

“Can you let me have this?” he begged through a spray of food.

“Ellen, my new Jedi master, and I made them,” said Andrew. “She has dough powers. Anyway, I insisted on cheese. It’s in the living room.”

“SAM’S GOING TO TELL THE PESTILENCE STORY!” someone shouted from the dining room.

Buffy held still as a rush of people flowed around her. Once the crowd slowed, she ducked into the living room, where Dean sat at the study table with a plate full of pizza.

“First, you need to know about the Croatoan virus…” Sam began.

She sat beside Dean, hand on his leg, head on his shoulder. He leaned into her, their bodies humming. Buffy wanted to tell him a thousand things: how she’d killed Caleb, how Lucifer had invaded her dreams, how much her heart ached in his absence. Sitting beside him, a comfortable smile curling his lips, none of it felt pressing.

They listened to Sam in the other room, his bilious tale of swine flu bewitching the crowd. “So we’re on the floor, writhing with who knows how many illness, and –”

“Which illnesses?” Xander asked.

Sam mumbled and continued with the story.

“Did Pestilence give you an std?” Buffy whispered to Dean.

“Clean bill of health, I swear.” Dean took another bite of pizza.

“Dean!” the crowd in the dining room called.

“Everybody wants to hear the Death story,” Sam added.

Taking his hand in hers, Dean smiled at Buffy. Together, they walked toward the eager audience. “You tell it,” Dean said, grabbing a slice of cheese pizza.

Sam shook his head. “I wasn’t there. Besides, I already told the Pestilence story.”

“So cool,” said one of the Potentials, smiling and bobbing on her toes.

“Ew gross,” whined another, who had nonetheless pressed in with the rest to hear the story.

Grinning playfully, Buffy tilted her head to the side. “Did he have a robe and scythe, or was he more stylish?”

“Suit,” Dean replied. “So this big storm was brewing. We’re talkin’ black skies at noon. Hail. The whole nine. And it was about to wipe out Chicago.”

“Nooo, not my Chitown,” gasped Margo.

“Death was there…eating pizza.”

Several people put their slices down.

“Death likes pizza?” asked Maya, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Deep dish,” Dean replied.

“The only proper pizza,” added Margo.

“I didn’t even get a chance to use the weapon Gabriel gave me, but lucky me, Death ain’t a fan of having Lucifer yankin’ his chain. He gave me his ring and spared the city. Equal parts easy and terrifying.” Dean turned to Buffy and said in a clear voice, “He says, ‘Hello,’ by the way. Apparently Death’s a fan of your work.”

Buffy grinned. She wasn’t surprised Death knew her; their work was tied together. Creatures of the night spoke her name in a hushed whisper as if she could be right around the corner, but she was in a house full of naive children who had mutinied right before Dean had left. He wanted the audience to know she had Death’s respect.

“The end. Go frolic or stab things or whatever kids are into these days,” Dean said with a dismissive wave to the groans of the crowd. Leaning over Sam’s chair, he whispered, “Where’s the bag?”

Sam pointed to an army duffle by the stairs.

Turning back to Buffy, Dean asked “You wanna take a walk?”

Lacing her fingers with his, she replied, “I’d like that.”

Boyish glee shone from Dean’s face. “See ya, Sammy. Don’t wait up.”

* * *

 

Jo patted Steph’s cold body, wrapped in a sheet, and resting in the back of a hotwired pickup. “Was it worth it, kid?”

Slamming the tailgate shut, she noticed Buffy and Dean leaving the house hand in hand. She turned away. Down the street Spike was shoveling spades full of goo into a bucket. It looked like he was talking to himself. Deciding he needed company, Jo headed his way.

With nothing better to do than drive herself crazy over facing the Apocalypse again, Jo had bided her time in Sunnydale, getting to know its few remaining residents. Aside from goddess vessels, (Willow the Witch frankly freaked her out,) and goddess vessels-in-waiting, there were a few bonafide hunters in the mix.

First, there was the how-are-they-still-alive camp. Andrew, who mystifyingly claimed to be Buffy’s former arch nemesis, had promptly started following her mom around like a puppy. Then there was affable, goofy Xander and his indifferent-to-the-whole-thing ex Anya.

One the other hand, there were the more serious hunters. Giles was Sunnydale’s answer to the previously unthought question, “What if Bobby were refined?” Jo liked to listen to them talk shop. They were even funnier together when she kept their glasses topped. The son of a previous Slayer, Robin Wood reminded her most of hunters back home – quiet, focused, reluctant to be with the group. Of course, he looked like a downright social butterfly next to Spike.

Spike – a great fighter and keen researcher – was doing that self-imposed hunter-in-exile thing. Keep people at arms length because their damage is special damage. At least that’s how it looked to Jo. Dawn had admitted, “He used to be a friend, but… he got ugly for a while. Evil. I know he’s changed, but the hurt is still there.”

Hurt or no hurt. Damage or no damage. It seemed to Jo that the whole crew should be using Spike’s skills better.

He did, however, talk to Jo. He was funny and sweet with this gentlemanly air under his rock and roll shell. They’d spent more than one evening joking over a bottle of wine, measuring their new life in sips. They were two creatures newly reborn, teetering on the edge of extinction.

Then there was the rumor that Spike was Buffy’s ex.

Spike was still talking to himself. “–let me teach it to you. It starts, ‘’ope is a thing with feathers.’ (See the irony?)” He sploshed another small piece of Cas’ vessel into the bucket.

“Maybe you need a wet vac?” Jo said.

He looked up at her, not even a hint of surprise on his face. “Thought you’d be a bit more broken up about your friend.”

“Castiel? I didn’t really know him,” she confessed. “I’m more of a poltergeist girl. This angel business is way above my pay grade.”

“Castiel was good, especially for a bleedin’ angel.” Spike stood and stretched, his white t-shirt popping up over his belt. “But this wasn’t Feathers, at least according to the Winchesters. Just the body. Angel’s in the wind.”

Spike surveyed his work. The street was still stained red, but at least the chunky bits were gone. He made a face at the contents of the bucket, then began to search the grass.

“I didn’t realize you ‘ad it so bad.” He shot her a glance, his mouth upturned into a knowing grin.

Jo felt her cheeks flushing hot. “Got what bad?”

“I saw you rush out of your ‘ouse, ‘ot and ‘eavy to see Dean Winchester again. I knew you ‘ad a crush, but not the ache.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a rush. She felt like he could see through her.

Spike cocked his head to the side. “Come now. We didn’t volunteer for body duty out respect for the dead. Warm corpses ‘ave more appeal right now than watching your ex in someone else’s arms.”

“Dean’s just a friend.” Her voice modulated oddly to cover the lie.

Spike shrugged. “Tell yourself what you want, pet, but the pining will eat you alive.”

Jo pounced on the opportunity to turn the tables. “Like you pining for Buffy?”

“I’d like to think I’m past pining. Buffy needs me like the Titanic needs an iceberg.”

Jo bit back a laugh at his self-importance. _What is it with men?_ “If you’re her iceberg, does that make Dean her James Cameron?”

“There was so much room on that bloody door!” Spike said with the earnestness of a true fan.

“Near! Far! Wher _eeeeeeeeever_ you are!” Jo sang loud and off-key.

“God dammit, woman!” Spike threw his spade into the grass. “Now you’ve given me the earworm!”

She laughed. On his own, Spike was easy to talk to. In fact, he was downright fun – a rarity among hunters. His personality didn’t come through in the group.

A thought struck her. “So Spike, honest to God truth, why are you in Sunnydale? I mean, other than the Battle Royale.”

“I came for Buffy. I stayed for Buffy.” He said it with finality – a giant red _CASE CLOSED_ stamped on the file.

“Come on, man! She doesn’t want you!” Heat rushed to Jo’s face as soon as the harsh words tumbled out. “I mean, she doesn’t seem to respect you. Even Xander is in charge of his own little goddess squad, and he’s a joke of a hunter.”

“There’s the rub,” Spike whispered. He looked away from her, pretending to inspect something in the grass. “Couldn’t leave. Shouldn’t stay.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Jo wasn’t sure what she’d come there for. Commiseration? Hard to wallow in their shared left out status if she couldn’t even admit to her feelings. “Look, my nerves are kinda raw right now, and you stepped right on it. I’ve pined, yeah. A lot. Not school girl hearts on the notebook sort of pining, but thinking that maybe, just maybe…” She shrugged, and bit her lip. She wasn’t ready to expose her most private dreams about Dean Winchester.

“It’s one thing to meet Dean’s perfect superhero girlfriend. It’s another to see them together. Romance movie kisses and soaring music. Happy for them. Sad for me. I want to throw confetti in the the air and then set it the fuck on fire, you know?”

Spike nodded, a far away look on his face. “I know. God, I know.”

* * *

 

Body duty was usually a lonely affair. Spike liked that aspect. Time to think, or in this case, chat. He hadn’t anticipated Jo crashing the party though, and she could only be crashing for one reason. So he pushed aside thoughts of the world’s end and flipped over his lonely hearts club card.

“I know. God, I know.” After gently setting down his bucket of expired-vessel, Spike stared up at the sky. Jo stared with him.

He pressed his hands to his lips a couple times, longing for a cigarette. “Thing is, I feel new, like some wobbly-legged deer. I didn’t want to be in charge of things until I felt in charge of me. You’ve seen me on good days, but I used to be a monster.”

Jo’s face twinged a bit at the word _monster_. She probably thought he was being dramatic. No one had told her, then. Blessed innocence.

He continued, more to the wind than to her. “I did terrible things. Sometimes I loved it. Sometimes, the evil pushed me aside, but I was running the show more than I’d like to admit. They may hold grudges, but I hold all the guilt.”

“Hunters are champion guilt-swallowers,” she said. “Kind of our thing.”

“Been doing a lot of thinking. What does guilt make a man? An alcoholic husk? A paralyzed thing? So I ‘ave to let the guilt go. I may ‘ave done terrible things in my past, but I’m better than that now. I’m brave and I’m brilliant.” He smile at her. His decision was made, and he felt _good_.

Jo knocked him playfully with her elbow. “You know, alcoholic husk is a time-honored retirement plan for our lot back home. Assuming we live that long.”

Spike didn’t plan on living that long. He just needed to stay in control until the end. “Recently, I’ve been thinking about leaving. ‘aving Dean ‘ere makes me ‘opeful, believe it or not. ‘e’s a git sometimes, but ‘e’ll look out for ‘er. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Hope was a thing riding in on a comet of Feathers. Spike didn’t think he needed a sign of such garish proportions. He knew what he needed to do.

“Make sure Dean gets that.” He pointed at the bucket. “Wants to do a proper send off.”

“Where are you going?” Jo asked as he started walking up the street.

“I’m going to ‘elp save the world.”

* * *

 

Buffy and Dean walked in silence, enjoying how their palms brushed together, the rhythm of their steps. She wanted to savor the moment – walking beside him, the late morning sun drawing out the freckles scattered over his skin.

Once they turned a corner away from any prying eyes, she said, “I’m sorry about Castiel.”

Dean bit his lip, grief settling into his eyes. He stopped and drew her into his arms. Resting her head on his chest, she listened to the small hitches in his breathing as he processed the loss of his friend.

“He’ll be okay. Gotta keep reminding myself he’s not dead. He just has to find a vessel in a world without angel vessels.” Dean bit his lip, puzzling through his friend’s situation.

Buffy held him as tightly as she dared. “Where’s Gabriel? Why did Cas–”

“Gabriel’s dead. Long, trippy story. Cas, uh, he wanted to keep a promise.” Pain brimmed in his eyes.

“He wanted to bring you back to me,” she realized with horror and gratitude.

Dean nodded and resumed walking. The topic closed for now.

“How long was I gone?” he asked.

“Three weeks. How long was it for you?”

“Same.”

A knot in her stomach loosened. One of her many worries while he was gone was time passing faster for one of them, losing more years together.

“Things seem better with the girls,” he said.

Buffy shrugged. “They agreed I’m in charge.”  
  
“How generous.”

She’d thought a lot about the Potentials. Buffy had tried to be their Watcher, but that was too didactic. She’d tried to give them space, but that made her too aloof. Then she learned that she and all of the Slayers before her were prisons for a goddess.

Then it clicked.

Of course, Buffy had noticed how alienating power was. It bred controlling jealousy in others, as with the Watcher’s Council (and occasionally her friends). The Power made relationships difficult; most men were too delicate for her strength. The Power called for hard choices made quickly. The Power came with Duty, like an anchor around her neck, allowing her only the most narrow of paths: cut yourself off in order to save as many people as you can. It was the path nearly every Slayer had walked.

The Slayer was truly a golden cage everyone was scrambling to rule. A perfect prison.

She wondered if Hecate had shrieked the day Buffy decided to hang with Willow over Cordelia.

“They don’t have to like me,” she said. “They just have to follow me. I think we’re there. They’ve stopped second guessing me, at least.

“By the way, I’ve been staying at your place.” Buffy smiled at Dean, revelling in the comfort of him. “It was the closest I could get to you. My house just doesn’t feel like mine anymore, especially without you there.”

Dean kissed her hand. Her entire body buzzed with excitement.

They’d walked far enough to find themselves on the edge of the rich neighborhood. Dean let out a low whistle as they passed a starter mansion. “Forget your place or mine. We should have just moved over here.”

“Why not now?” she giggled, leading Dean by the hand into a gated pool.

They peeled back the pool cover before stripping. Her blouse, his button down. Her bra, his t-shirt. She paused before sliding off her pants to admire his broad shoulders, the way his powerful muscles rippled under his skin. He pushed down his jeans and boxers together, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning over his already stiffening length.

Dean dove in, a clean line of muscle and sex, only to bob up seconds later with a cry of excitement. “Woo! Colder than I expected.”

She dove in anyway, the chill shocking her. He was there, and she wanted to feel every inch of him against her, inside her. The most intimate they’d been in weeks was holding each other after she’d been possessed.

They swam toward each other, enjoying their weightlessness while their hands slowly explored each other’s bodies as if touching something rare and priceless. She wrapped her legs around his waist, happy with the familiar thickness of him between her thighs. Dean kissed her long and slow, gently sucking on the tip of her tongue, his fingers caressing her breasts. Each kiss felt like he was tugging on a string, unbinding her, setting her free.

His smile wide, he hoisted her up on the side of the pool and teasingly licked up her inner thigh. Clamping his arms around her legs, he buried his face in her. She could barely breathe as he traced circles with his tongue. Fingers twisted in his wet hair, she bucked against his mouth, her need increasing with each lap of his tongue. Soon, she arched her back and cried out as pleasure washed over her, wave after wave of missing him, of needing him. Her body still humming, she laid back in the sun.

Pushing himself up on the edge of the pool, Dean lay beside her, grinning, his arm draped over her stomach. “You look happy.”

Buffy sat up, pulling him with her. “I’m not done with you,” she purred as she pushed him onto a poolside chaise lounge.

Her body pulsed and pleaded to have him inside of her. She froze for just a second, the memory of the demon cackling that word – _baby_ – reverberating in her brain.

“You okay?” Squinting at her, he shielded his eyes from the sun.

“Enjoying the view.”

She dropped to her knees. He could still fill her lungs, her hands, her mouth. Buffy placed her hands on his thighs, covering up his running list of the dead (a list soon to grow longer) tattooed there. Covering up the _J. H._

Dean moaned softly as she took him in her mouth inch by inch. He grinned at her, his tongue caught between his teeth. She increased her pace, watching his lust-blown eyes until she stroked a shuddering _oooo_ from his pink lips still glistening with her.

When they were both satisfied, Dean pulled her into his arms. They laid together on the lounge, the sun warming their skin, dreaming of an imaginary future. Buffy traced his tattoos with her fingers and idly tapped on his freckles. A pleased hum popped in her throat as he played with her hair.

“I was mulling over what you said the night before we left. You said the longer we’re together, the more you want.” Dean paused to kiss the top of her head. “I want that too, whatever shape it takes.”

Buffy propped herself up on her arm and looked him in the eye. His naive hope made her heart ache. Their future was too complicated. “But we can’t have that, Dean. When this is over, I go back to nightly patrols. Those are our nights out: killing vampires. The job hunt is going to start up again, and with that on my plate, I don’t think I can keep up with college. We don’t have the _time_ for more.”

“Bullshit!” he said, his face pained. “The Watcher’s Council is dead, Girly. Who do you think makes the rules now?”

“I can’t abandon–”

“Who said anything about abandoning anything? The Council was in England, right? Now you got fifty plus girls in your house that need Watchers and training. You got Giles and Sam. I’m sure a few more will step up. Who says they have to go back to England? Who says the Potentials can’t get hands-on training doing patrols once a week? Who says all the fighting has to be on your shoulders all the time?”

It just sounded like more to handle. More to worry about. She’d been in such despair since the slaughter at the winery, she hadn’t thought about life after the Apocalypse. “Let’s lock up Lucifer, then plan for the future.”

Dean kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, darlin’. How about a present instead?”

He retrieved his duffel bag from where he’d dropped it by the gate. “Death said he was the one who reaped you both times. You wouldn’t leave the first time, when you drowned, but the second time you were happy to go.”

Anyone else would have deemed her suicidal to face death as she had, but Dean understood sacrifice.

“Anyway, he gave me something for you.” Dean unzipped his bag and pulled out a golden bow, the string fine like spider silk and glowing like silver, and a quiver of six golden arrows.

They were hers. Artemis’s. They were as familiar to her as her own reflection. The grip formed to her hand as if her hand had formed it. The tension on the string perfect.

Throwing Dean’s shirt over her nakedness, she dashed onto the front lawn. The former owners of a house at the end of the block had an affinity for yard decorations. Within a minute, she’d shot a fake deer, a small battalion of lawn gnomes. Seven shots, but there was still an arrow in her quiver. She pulled it out. One golden arrow in her hand, and one in the quiver. She raced to the end of the block to retrieve her arrows, and when she returned them to the quiver, there were six again.

Something inside her began to wake up.


End file.
